


Home Is A Fire

by themoviesinourdreams



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Chaptered, FBI Agent Gerard, Frerard, Kidnapped, M/M, No Smut, Past Abuse, frank gets kidnapped, frank gets rescued by gerard, frerardish but like not really...?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoviesinourdreams/pseuds/themoviesinourdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Title take by the Death Cab For Cutie song "Home Is A Fire")</p><p>  Frank gets kidnapped, Gerard rescues him. They get to know each other. Trouble's unavoidable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited  
> Feel free to point out any mistakes :P

Frank hasn’t pissed today.  
He almost laughs, because peeing is so normal, so trivial, so not-something-to-do-in-the-back-of-a-van. And that’s where he is. Frank Iero is in the back of a van thinking about the fact that he hasn’t pissed today.  
He usually does it when he wakes up. And it’s usually the best part of his morning. Which is kind of sad, now that he’s thinking about it. That watching his urine trickle into the toilet is what he looks forward to when he wakes up every morning.  
Of course, when every moment after that first piss is spent drinking watery coffee, being yelled at by his boss for being late, and trying to ignore the painful hunger that haunts him.  
So that first piss, first pee, spending two minutes groggily leaning against the bathroom wall watching the urine, his urine, splash into the toilet is the best part of his morning. It’s the best part of his day, really. And it’s the only time of day that doesn’t hurt.  
Frank’s sick. The never-ending burning hunger in stomach tells him that. Eating hurts. Drinking hurts. Breathing hurts. Peeing hurts. Except for that first one, that first pee of the day.  
He hadn’t pissed that morning. He doesn’t know why, all he knows is that he woke up, and he didn’t have to pee.  
And now he’s in the back of a van, and he has to pee.  
He’d been kidnapped (if you could call it that) on his way to work that morning. His car had broken down half a mile from his office, and he’d decided to leave the piece of junk beside the road (he had had no idea how he was going to get home, but at that point he didn’t really care) sometime during the walk Frank had blacked-out.  
He’d woken up in the van.  
He leans against the wall of the van and tries not to thing about how much he needs to piss.  
-  
Frank hurts. He wakes up, puts his hands on his stomach and throws up. He doesn’t feel better. He wants to cry.  
He remembers. He was kidnapped. He doesn’t know where he is, but it’s damp and it’s dark and it reeks of mothballs.  
He doesn’t know why anyone would kidnap him. He’s a self-centered, sullen, twenty-four year-old with a dead-end job. He throws up again.  
-  
When Frank wakes up again, he knows he’s somewhere new, it’s still damp and dark, but the mothball scent is gone and he can’t smell any puke. He resists the urge to throw up again as he stretches his right hand out, searching for something, anything. His fingers linger on the concrete floor, trailing in front of his body as he scoots forward. He finds a wall. He presses up against it, bringing his knees to his chest. He wants to cry, but he hurts, and he needs to throw up, but can’t because he hurts and he can’t think.  
He needs to think.  
He figures he’s in a basement by the lack of windows and concrete floor and walls. But that’s all he has any idea of, he doesn’t know if he’s still in New Jersey, or how long he was asleep for. He doesn’t know why he’s here. And Frank sleeps. He sleeps because it hurts.  
-  
Frank wakes up to a shaft of light entering the room, and now he knows he’s in a basement. He shields his eyes, not used to the brightness. A plate is thrown on the ground, and then the shaft of light is gone. Frank hears what he assumes is a key turning in a lock, and he is trapped. Again.  
He crawls over to the plate, and assesses it with his limited vision. Half an apple, scrambled eggs. Frank can eat this. He has to if he was to have any chance of getting out of here.  
He eats everything on the plate, bite by bite, and then he throws it up.  
-  
This continues for God only knows how long. All Frank knows is that periodically a plate of food is thrown through the door, that he pees in the corner, throws up everything he eats, and hurts. Frank hurts.  
He tries to keep track of the plates, the pisses, the throw-ups, but the pain is overwhelming, and blinding and it’s all Frank can think about.  
With the pain come memories - his mom kicking him out when he was fourteen and came out as gay, living with his dad who beat him everyday, his teachers calling him stupid, everyone who ever told him that he was worthless – he wakes up screaming every time he tries to sleep.  
-  
He doesn’t know how many plates, how many pisses, how many throw-ups it’s been when the door opens and a plate is not thrown. Instead, a man comes in, grabs Frank by the collar of his shirt and drags him up the basement stairs. When the man lets go of Frank, he falls to his knees, and winces at the bright light.  
“Here he is.” The man says, and Frank flinches at the man’s gruff voice. “All yours.”  
“Here’s your money.” Frank looks up at this voice, and tilts his head curiously. Studying him. Frank would be lying if he said he didn’t think this man was attractive.  
“I’ll take him to your car, if you want.”  
“No.”  
“Alright,” the man kicks Frank. “Get up, slut.”  
It takes a second for Frank to realize the man is talking to him. He tries to stand, but his legs are shaking and his knees buckle.  
“It’s alright. I’ll get him.” And the other man picks Frank up, surprisingly gently, and carries him to a car parked in the street in front of the house. The man sets Frank down in the passenger seat, and walks to the other side of the car.  
“Did you just buy me?” Frank asks, as the man sits down. His voice is cracked and shaky, unsure.  
“Shh.” The man says, and there is silence for the rest of the drive. When the car pulls to a stop in front of a nice looking house, the man picks Frank up, carries him inside the house and sets him down at the table in the kitchen. He gets Frank a glass of water, and Frank chugs it.  
“Who are you?” Frank asks, his voice sounds slightly better after drinking the water, but not much.  
“Gerard Way. And I did buy you. I saved you.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You were kidnapped to be sold into one of the biggest sex rings in the country, usually the slaves are sold after two or three days, but there were some complications with the police figuring out their location so they kept you there longer. I bought the first chance I had. I got you out.”  
“How long was I there for?”  
“Seventeen days.”  
“Are you a police officer?”  
“Kind of...it’s complicated. You have to be hungry; I could make you a grilled cheese or something...”  
Frank blanches at the mention of food.  
“Uh...where’s your bathroom?”  
“Down that hallway, first door to your left,” and Frank takes off running. He pukes, and then he cries because it hurts. He hurts. He stands up and walks out of the bathroom. He turns to Gerard, who is waiting outside the door.  
“What if I didn’t want to be saved?”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Gerard get closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited  
> Feel free to point out any mistakes

Frank leans against Gerard’s hallway. His breathing is heavy. Gerard doesn’t know what to say. Frank can tell by the look on his face. And Frank changes the subject.  
“Why?” Frank gasps.  
“Why what?” Gerard asks.  
“Why do you do this? Save people, I mean.”  
“I had an opportunity to help people, I took it. I like doing the right thing. I’m sure that if anyone else had been in my position they would have done the same thing.”  
Frank’s breath is back.   
“No, they wouldn’t have. Because that’s not what ordinary people do. Ordinary people keep their nose clean, and live their life, and try not to get hurt. They try to ignore the bad things.” Frank pauses. “And ordinary people eat when they’re hungry, and they cry when they’re sad, and they laugh when they’re happy, and...” Frank can’t finish. He sinks to the ground, and that’s when he realizes he’s crying.  
Gerard leaves the hallway and goes back to the kitchen, and that makes Frank want to cry harder, because he’s known Gerard for less than an hour and he already hates Frank. But Gerard comes back. He sets a plate down next to Frank, and sits next to him.  
“I added tomato, I hope that’s okay, that’s how I always make them.” Gerard says. And it’s silent.  
Frank doesn’t know how long it takes him to eat the sandwich, bite by bite, and he doesn’t know how long Gerard and him sit there after he’s done; all he knows is the when Gerard asks him if he wants to take a bath, Frank isn’t crying anymore.  
-  
Twenty minutes later Frank is kneeling in front of Gerard’s toilet, puking his guts out. There’s a knock on the door.  
“Frank? You okay?”  
“I’m fine.” But the doorknob turns anyway, and two seconds later Gerard is kneeling next to Frank rubbing circles on his back.  
-  
Days pass by, and Frank wants to feel okay. So he pretends he doesn’t spend every night crying instead of sleeping, he pretends he doesn’t throw up every meal he eats. The painful, burning hunger is still there. Of course, this pain has always been there, and Frank understands that it always will be there, but the memories still haunt him.  
The memories weren’t there before. Frank’s spent years blocking them out, but here they are, knives in his chest.  
Frank knows that Gerard knows he’s pretending. Pretending to sleep, pretending to eat. And he wants to tell Gerard about the pain, about the memories, but Frank’s never opened up before, and he doesn’t know how.  
Gerard tells Frank everything. He’s full of stories, and Frank doesn’t believe half of them, but he likes listening to Gerard. He has a very calming voice, one that’s been missing from Frank’s life.  
-  
Gerard’s laughing. They’re playing Clue in Gerard’s living room and Gerard’s telling a story and he’s laughing. Frank wants to laugh too, but he also wants to cry, and he’s thinking about telling Gerard he’s tired and –  
“I love you.” Frank’s hand flies to his mouth. “I didn’t mean – I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – Please don’t hurt me.”  
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Gerard’s voice is hoarse. Tentative.  
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave.” Frank hangs his head; he doesn’t know where he’d go, he doubts he still has his job, much less his apartment.  
“Why would I want you to leave?” There is genuine confusion in Gerard’s voice now.  
“Because...because, I’m gay?” Frank doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but it does.  
“Why would you think I’d want you to leave because you’re gay? I told you Frankie - you’re staying here as long as you like, or at the very least, until you’re healthy.”  
“My kicked me out. When...when I told her I was gay.”  
“Oh, Frankie.” Gerard sounds close to crying now.  
“I like that. When you call me Frankie, no one’s ever called me that before.” And Frank realizes that he’s barely coherent, he’s sobbing so hard. Gerard’s there, though, rubbing his back.  
-  
“What happens after?” It’s later that same day and Frank is sitting at Gerard’s kitchen table, watching him cook.  
“After what?”  
“After I’m healthy. When I leave. Where am I supposed to go?”  
“Well, I’ll help you find another apartment, another job, I’m not going to let you leave until I know you’ll be okay.” And that makes Frank feel better, knowing that he won’t be thrown out on the street.t  
“Can I ask you a question, Frankie?”  
“Uh...yeah.”  
“What did you mean, when you asked ‘what if I didn’t want to be saved’?” Frank bites his lip.  
“I mean, I’m sick, my life sucks, no one cares about me. What’s there to live for?”  
“I care.” It’s a whisper, but Frank’s trained himself to detect the tiniest noises. It’s a whisper, but it makes Frank smile, just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's not a one shot anymore
> 
> Sorry it's short, but this is where I wanted to end it
> 
> My friend forced me to watch Ouran High School Host Club, and now I'm hooked. Anyone else watch it?
> 
> 820 words

**Author's Note:**

> It's just a one shot, but if anyone wants me to write more, I will.
> 
> June 8, 2016  
> So, some people said I should write more, so I guess it's not a one shot anymore.
> 
> 1240 words.


End file.
